


Something Like Moving Forward

by BrushDog



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ana is judging them a lot, Bitter Angry Old Men, Clothed Sex, Light Asphyxiation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Wraithfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrushDog/pseuds/BrushDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of Jack and Reaper's confrontations takes a slightly different turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Moving Forward

"You're going to go back after him, aren't you?" is the first thing that Ana asks him when they're back to the dusty hideout that Jack's made at the edge of the city.

"Yeah," Jack answers without hesitation. "If I'm going to get to the bottom of this, if I'm going to do anything for what Winston's trying to build, it means going after him."

"Of course," Ana says with a sigh. "How foolish to think that even death would keep the two of you apart."

The familiarity of the remark leaves a pang of nostalgia twisting in Jack's chest. He breathes in against it, turning away. "You don't believe him, do you?" he asks.

"What? That you were the one who did that to him?" Ana asks, a silver eyebrow artfully arched over her one good eye. "I know quite well what you're capable of, Jack, and I know that isn't it. Besides, Reyes always was one to cast blame in absolutes."

"Ana..." Jack swallows, the rest of his words lost in the tight weight that refuses to dislodge from the back of his throat.

"Never mind that," she says, waving the topic aside with a sharp gesture of her hand. "I told you that I would be here to support you, Jack. I'm well aware of the endeavors that sort of thing entails."

Jack nods in reply. He'd known it was Ana as soon as he'd heard the rumors. There was some hesitation at first, if he really should drag her back into the battle, into his hopeless one man crusade against whatever it was that had brought Overwatch down. But in the end, he never had a choice when it came to Ana. It was Ana who threw her weight in behind him, and he had little choice but to accept.

The companionship is welcome, but it doesn't make the missions any easier. Chasing a ghost who would fight by your side is one thing. Chasing a ghost who wanted you dead is something else entirely. 

The pock marked scars from Reaper and Jack's encounters begin to paint a map across his already marred skin. Ana's does what she can to heal the damage with her shots. Each one comes with a cluck of the tongue and passing remarks that he's not the poster boy he once was, but even with the latest advances in biotic technology scars are still an unfortunate side effect.

There's the wound in his back from Egypt, a mess of tight circles against his arm from an encounter in London. Streaks run across the outside of his thigh from a near miss in Beijing. He can't make them out clearly without his visor on, but the way that they stretch and pull at his skin echos like a memory he thought he'd left buried. He remembers strong hands catching his thighs, spreading them apart with a force he didn't want to resist and he catches the thought and discards it as quickly as it comes.

The streets outside of Paris set the stage for their next encounter. Jack's found the trail of something, a thread that seems to tie bank accounts that fed long dead agents from the Swiss Headquarters to the Talon outpost where they'd found Amelie all those years ago.

It's infiltration work, an extraction. He gets in with Ana's eyes on his back, and slips out just as quickly. They're nearly in the clear when Ana's voice sparks to life in his ear.

"Enemy fire--Jack, watch yourself, I can't keep my eye on you--"

The line snaps and cuts into static. Jack whirls, throwing himself into an alleyway against a few dark warehouses.

"Ana?!" he hisses. The static is his only reply.

"Damnit--"

The boom of the shotgun gives him only a split second to toss himself to the ground, the spray of bullets that scatter into the wall behind him, summoning up a cloud of dust as a few fragments tear into his arm.

His grip on his pulse rifle slips and the weapon clatters against the ground, only a few feet away. He spares a glance to where the shot came from, darting forward to his weapon when he sees nothing, praying he'll make it in time.

Reaper's already ahead of him. An iron-clad boot connects with his ribs, sending him sailing back against the wall of the alleyway.

"You never learn, do you?" the voice over him rasps, disgust and exasperation curling out from under the bone white mask.

Jack spits out a laugh as short as his exhale. He finds purchase on the wall behind him, shoving off against it, dragging himself back up to his feet.

"I'm not done yet," he says. "It's not over until I get to the bottom of this."

The laugh echoing out from under Reaper's mask rattles.

"Still trying to play the hero," he sneers, stepping forward.

Jack twists his gaze up just in time to see the backside of one of Reaper's clawed hands smashing towards his face.

His visor and face guard shatter, scattering pieces of metal and glass across the ground. Jack bites back a grunt of pain, the world swimming into a blur of white and inky blackness before his eyes. Before he has a chance to react, Reaper's gauntlet closes over his neck, talons gripping tight and tearing into his skin. His feet lift off the ground, the rough brick of the wall behind him scraping against the leather of his jacket.

"I think it's time I taught you a lesson," Reaper hisses. Jack feels the chill of smoke kiss against his lips, the bone white of Reaper's mask must be only inches away.

He thrashes, reaching up to the grip against his throat, chest heaving as he struggles to pull breath in.

"Gabe--" is all he can rasp before Reaper's grip tightens.

"Enough talking."

Jack is suddenly aware that the chill of Reaper's mist is all around him now. He kicks out against the wall and swings into empty air and the same rasping laugh against his ear.

"Nice try," Reaper sneers, before a weight settles over Jack's legs, pinning them back against the wall.

The smoke of Reaper's body insinuates itself beneath the fabric of Jack's jacket, both feather soft and heavy as lead all at once. Jack struggles against it only to feel the shadows press in harder, wrapping around his legs, his wrists and arms until he'd bound and consumed by it completely. The shadows jerk and he's left with no choice but to twist his arms within them, the cracking impact of his hands against the wall behind them somehow softened by inky blackness around him.

His arms strain with an echo of something far more intimate, of Gabriel's body over his with both wrists caught in the sure grip of a single powerful hand. The shadow of that man is all that's left over him now.

He sucks in a breath only to find the tight grip about his throat has vanished, dissolving into smoke that fills his lungs instead. It chills his blood as it races inside him, his blind eyes thrown wide open at the shock of it. Jack twists against the confines around him, but there's no way out. He gags, chokes.

Reaper is no longer a body, no longer solid. He's nothing more than the chill racing down Jack's spine, the creeping touch racing across his skin, the hollow rattle of laughter against his ear. Jack's lungs burn for breath. He gasps, shuddering, and finds that even with the smoke inside him he can still pull in air, just barely. Greedy for more he swallows around it, nostrils flaring against the chilly darkness as he tries to maintain his grip on consciousness.

The smoke around him is thick with the stench of decay, acrid and overly sweet all at once. Yet beneath it runs the undercurrent of something familiar, an earthy bite of sweat and gunpowder that pulls more memories unbidden from where Jack's pushed them away.

He grits his teeth, biting down on empty air, wishing for the chance to press against something real, to press skin to skin like they used to, shoving the years of dissent and disfiguration away like they never mattered.

Over his thighs, he feels the rippling shadows shudder, almost as if they can sense his desire. The tenor of the rasping voice in his ear changes, something breathless and unhinged undercutting it now.

"Never thought I'd see you look like this under me again," Reaper says. "Just like old times, Jack."

He spits the name out like a curse, with enough venom to poison even the rosy glow of nostalgia.

Jack sucks in a heaving breath. His body's already reacting to Reaper's touch. If this is Reaper's idea of teaching him a lesson, he's got a twisted way of looking at the whole damn thing. But even with his mind swimming, his thoughts refusing to order themselves through the adrenaline and lack of oxygen, Jack knows he isn't any better now.

"Gabe--" he pushes out. His muscles are still tight in Reaper's hold. He's not giving up, even if he can't be sure what that means anymore.

Reaper's shadows surge against him, crawling across his chest and stomach, curling over his hips and lower. There's no way that he hasn't noticed Jack's reaction, but Jack doesn't really give a damn about that.

"Did you miss me?" he asks like it's an accusation.

Jack jerks his head against the pressure curling over the outside of his throat. Reaper's smoke allows him another gasping breath.

"Who'd miss you," he chokes out, "when you're still making my life hell every damn day?"

Reaper laughs, a low rich echo that should have shook from a broad chest and broader shoulders. "You haven't seen hell yet _. _ "

The shadows ripple and drag in with an insistent pressure. Jack barely has a chance to pull a hiss through his teeth before they close around him. The chill against his heated skin makes him shiver. The tight hold of Reaper's grip around his cock leaves his hips bucking up and off the wall behind them.

"Needy as always," Reaper growls. Jack almost swears he can feel the wet heat of breath against his ear. "You always wanted more."

Jack exhales with a stuttered gasp. His hands twist, trying to find purchase against the cold weight of the smoke only to press against nothing.

"Gabe--" he says, gritting his teeth against the heat dancing across his skin, the unnerving sensation of thrusting up into nothing more than the inky blackness of Reaper's body.

Reaper doesn't deny him. His face and hands are the only places where he can't feel the touch of smoke, the pressure like rough, calloused hands leaving no part of him exposed. It laps against his chest like waves, twists and coils against his cock like an exhaled plume of a cigarette. He isn't desperate, he tells himself in a broken thought, but the fleeting familiarity of the touch, the twisting ache of knowing it's been too damn long leaves him hungry for more.

Gabriel's name is on his lips when Reaper grants him air to breathe. He feels his cheeks burn with heat as a cold sweat leaves his skin prickling with goosebumps under the touch of Reaper's shadows. Reaper is nothing like Gabriel was in the same way that he's everything Gabriel had been all at once.

Jack doesn't hold out. If this is Reaper's punishment then he'll relish it. If he thinks this is what it takes to break him, then come hell or high water Jack's going to take every bit of it he can for himself. Even when the shadows press in, even when they tighten around him, twisting hard and fast enough that the pleasure edges on pain, Jack ruts shameless against them, back arched with a strangled moan slipping from his lips when his vision fades to white.

He's too exhausted, too limp and boneless from climax to be sure of what happens next. All he knows is that as the haze slowly lifts from his mind is that he's alone, crumpled down against the wall of the alleway. The phantom touch of the smoke leaves a chill on his skin.

Jack lets his head hang for a moment, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

"Some punishment," he mutters, voice rough.

There's footsteps echoing off the alley walls not more than a minute later. Jack stumbles as he scrambles to his feet, not bothering to hide the evidence of what's transpired in favor of diving for his abandoned pulse rifle. He rolls into position just in time to see a familiar, blurry figure round the corner, the hazy shape of a rifle fixed on him.

"Ana--" Jack says, lowering the barrel of his gun before the snap of her bullet cuts through the air, hitting him square in the forehead.

"Damnit," Jack hisses. He rubs against the spot, already feeling the cuts on his face and the ache between his legs diminishing as the biotics do their work. "I was fine, Ana."

"For good measure then," Ana quips, shouldering her rifle. Jack hears her approach along with the disapproving click of her tongue as her boots push against the shattered remains of his visor on the ground. "Looks like you'll need a new one."

"Looks like it," Jack replies. He pushes himself up off the ground, casting his gaze aside knowing that there's no way to hide what's happened from Ana's sharp eye.

Sure enough, it's only a moment before he feels her gaze on him and hears the short sigh of resignation.

"At least the two of you didn't try to tear yourselves apart this time," is all she says. "I suppose there might be hope for you yet."

Jack lets his rifle fall against his side. It was true that this was the only one of their encounters where Ana's shot hadn't been necessary, where he hadn't needed to call for her back up to get Reaper off him. The thought of calling whatever messed up thing had just transpired between Reaper and himself progress made him want to shake his head in disgust and disbelief, but he couldn't deny that there might be some truth to it.

With a sigh, he presses forward. The discarded visor lays forgotten in the alleyway as Ana move to his side, guiding him on their way.

"Guess we'll have to wait and see."

**Author's Note:**

> All I want is more of angry old men smoke fucking so I wrote my own. It didn't turn out as graphic as I anticipated, but what can you do.


End file.
